


Call a Richard's Nickname

by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Construction Worker Derek Hale, Don't copy to another site, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Meet-Cute, Misunderstandings, Stackson Brotp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22237879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasterella/pseuds/isthatbloodonhisshirt
Summary: “What would we call it?” Stiles asked, ignoring Scott. “Like, it’d have to be catchy, it’s gonna be hard to market.”“Call a Dick,” Jackson said immediately.“Dude, we can’t market a business with the word ‘dick’ in it, that’s not gonna fly. No one will print that. And what are we gonna do, emblazon the side of the building with a huge penis?” Stiles had to admit, it would be hilarious, but probably taken down by the city relatively quickly.“It’s clear, it’s concise, it explains exactly what we offer.”“It can’t have the worddickin it, Jackson,” Stiles insisted with a sigh, leaning back and thinking on it.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 66
Kudos: 1712





	Call a Richard's Nickname

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came to me after I got yelled at by someone at work, because people are dicks. I called this garbage fic because that's what it is, but I wrote it for me to make myself feel better, so \o/

It was a ridiculously slow day today. Like, agonizingly slow. So slow that the most entertaining part of his day so far was the progress of the spider on the ceiling from one end of the room to the other. Spiders did not move very much when they didn’t have to, and it was _still_ more entertaining than anything else that had happened so far. 

Stiles Stilinski chewed absently on his pen, leaning back in his chair with both hands behind his head, staring up at the spider which had now stopped in the corner and was likely going to make a web. That was good, they still had a problem with fruit flies ever since his partner brought in that compost bin and _forgot to bring a lid for it_. 

He tried not to be mad about it, because really, he was suffering far less overall and it was good for the environment and whatever, but seriously. Stiles never went into the kitchenette, he hadn’t realized there was no lid until the smells began to hit and they were constantly fighting off fruit flies. 

Really it was his partner’s own damn fault. He went into the kitchenette every hour to replenish his supply of overpriced coffee, so he should’ve commented on it long before now. But _no_. Because it wasn’t his problem, until it _became_ his problem.

After all, his desk was closest to the kitchenette. His problem now! 

Stiles, rightfully, had absolutely zero sympathy for him and even now, almost a month later, the dreaded fruit fly infestation had yet to completely dissipate. Stiles insisted it was because there were always bananas in the kitchenette. The fruit flies were never going to die with a constant source of food! 

He still didn’t even know _why_ Jackson Whittemore had insisted on bringing in the compost bin. Again, yes, environment, but it wasn’t like they used that much to need one. At the rate they were going, it would take them four years to fill the huge bin up. The most that went into it were coffee grounds and banana peels, that was it. 

Nothing else! Seriously, they were never going to fill the damn thing up. And on top of that, they now also had fruit flies. 

Stiles kind of wanted to figure out how to thank the spider for its services. Maybe he’d just thank it by not telling Jackson it was there. After all, Jackson would probably freak, flip over a desk, and then go out to buy whatever chemicals he could find to kill it. He was a bit of an arachnophobe, even if he’d never admit it. 

He started when the phone rang, jerking forward and spitting the pen out of his mouth. Thank God, his day was literally about to drag if he didn’t get more phonecalls. 

“Call a Richard’s Nickname.”

_“Holy shit, you mean this is actually a thing?”_

“Yes ma’am,” Stiles confirmed, opening a new document on the computer and getting ready to type, phone cradled between ear and shoulder. He still insisted they needed headsets, but Jackson was a cheap bastard and wanted him to have a permanent hunch. “How can I help you today?” 

_“Uh... I mean, this is real, right? I swear, I called on a whim, but if this is **real** , then holy shit.”_

“It’s real,” he confirmed with a bit of a smile. He always found it funny when people thought they were fucking with them. They made great money, had tons of ads running, and were literally utilized across the entire State, so it was always funny when someone thought they were a hoax.

It’d be a pretty expensive hoax. 

“We’re here for you, whatever you need. How can we help?” 

_“Wow. Okay. Wow. So... Okay, I’m doing it. I’m fucking **doing it**! Sorry, didn’t mean to swear.”_

“All good,” Stiles confirmed. This girl was kind of entertaining, she sounded so thrilled at the prospect. “What do you need?” 

_“Okay. Okay. Um, my name is Erica, and I—shit, am I supposed to tell you my name?!”_

“Payment comes in the form of credit card or paypal, so I’d get it eventually. Don’t worry, all of this is strictly confidential, we don’t release any names without a warrant.” 

Stiles _had_ to say that because of the one time someone’s name _was_ released. It had been because of a warrant, and the guy had lost his shit. Wasn’t their fault he’d torched his employer’s car and the cops had come to them because the man remembered a rather angry phonecall. They’d had no choice but to release the name of the person who’d hired them, because they had a warrant.

Also, the guy handing him the warrant was his dad so, yeah. Awkward. 

_“Okay, makes sense.”_ The girl, Erica, took a slow breath, then seemed to find her resolve. _“So my boss, he’s like, ugh! He’s such a dick. Like, collossal dick. He keeps threatening to fire me, and he’s always so rude to me, and treats me like garbage.”_

“Has he ever raised his voice to you?” Stiles asked while typing up what she was saying in short-hand. 

_“Oh, **all** the time. Calls me an idiot, says I’m his biggest regret, threatens to fire me if I get his coffee order wrong.”_

“Have you ever cried at work or contemplated harming yourself over these interactions?”

_“What? Oh, no. No, nothing like that. Just—I need him taken down a few pegs, that’s all. Really want him to get a taste of his own medicine, you know? I do my best, I try hard. It’s just frustrating that when he has a bad day, he takes it out on me for **no reason**.”_

Stiles hummed his agreement, asking her a few more questions. This didn’t sound like one of the more serious situations they’d had to deal with in the past, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to give her his full attention. Evidently her boss was enough of a dick to force her into calling them, so he was going to treat her with the respect she deserved. 

He confirmed what kind of message she wanted to send him, along with a preferred schedule since it would be a bad idea for him to do _his_ job the same day she was clearly angry at her boss. People weren’t stupid, they could put two and two together, so he’d have to wait a few days. She confirmed Monday would work best, early in the morning, since it would be difficult for her boss to accuse her of anything if the day had only just started. 

They confirmed payment, he apologized that she worked for such a tool, and then they hung up. He stuck his pen back between his teeth while going over what he’d typed, fixing up the format and re-typing it in long hand before saving it as a new file and loading it as a reminder for Monday. 

He opened up the scripts to determine which one would be suitable for this particular party, chewing a little too hard on his pen and wincing when the plastic cracked between his teeth. He spat the pen back out, not bothering to stop it from rolling off the edge of the desk, and hummed between two different scripts. 

When the door opened, he didn’t even bother looking up, because he was distinctly attuned to the way certain people pushed open the door to enter their office. It kind of stuck a bit at the bottom, and there were different ways of opening it. 

Stiles always turned the knob and then just _kicked_ the door open. Jackson hated it, because it startled the shit out of him every time he did it, but that wasn’t his problem. Jackson was the cheap-o who wouldn’t call someone to fix it! 

When Jackson opened the door, he always turned the knob, cursed when it didn’t open properly, and then shouldered his way into the office. Really, he was just as violent as Stiles was, he didn’t know why Jackson always complained. 

His dad had a secret, magical way of opening the door that Stiles had yet to replicate wherein he apparently turned the knob, used said knob to lift the door slightly, and then pushed open the door with ease. 

The last person who tended to come and visit did a bit of a mix between Jackson and Stiles, wherein he would try and open the door normally first and, upon finding it stuck, would kick lightly a few times at the bottom corner for it to slowly unstick and eventually open.

The person who entered was the last one, which meant blissful, merciful coffee was in his future. 

“You really need to get that door fixed,” Scott McCall insisted, moving further into the office and setting a takeout cup of coffee on the edge of Stiles’ desk. 

“Talk to Jackson, he’s the cheap-o,” Stiles said absently, frowning at the script in front of him. 

“You okay?”

Stiles grunted in response, which had Scott slowly scootch the cup of coffee closer. 

“Coffee?”

“Hm?” Stiles turned to him, then looked at his desk and let out a loud exclamation. “Coffee! My life’s blood!” He’s been so distracted by the two different scripts he was trying to choose between that he’d forgotten Scott’s usual appearance heralded the arrival of _coffee_! 

It wasn’t that they didn’t _have_ coffee in their little kitchenette, but more that Stiles could not handle drinking that pretentious shit Jackson bought. It was some kind of exotic Ghana beans that had to ground _just right_ and then steeped for _exactly this amount of time_ and then only paired with the most _expensive_ of creams from this _one specific store_ down the road while doing a _special_ dance and sprinkled with edible gold and just—it was too much work.

Stiles wanted coffee. Just, bottom of the barrel, tastes like garbage, pour it into a cup and chug it coffee. Scott always delivered on that front, and was even kind enough for it to _not_ be bottom of the barrel disgusting coffee, which was always a bonus. 

“You are a Godsend, Scott. Seriously, I could kiss you.” 

“You could, but I’d have a hard time explaining that to Allison.” 

“Would you though?” he asked with a grin, taking a small sip and ignoring that it burned his tongue. Sweet, sweet nectar of the Gods, it could burn a hole right through his stomach and he wouldn’t care. “She’d probably be down for a threesome.” 

“With Isaac.” 

“No,” Stiles said, pointing the index finger of the hand still holding his coffee at Scott, “ _you_ want to have a threesome with Isaac. She would be _thrilled_ to have a threesome with me.” 

“Whatever makes you sleep at night,” Scott insisted with a small smile, leaning slightly against Stiles’ desk. 

“I sleep _great_ at night, I’ll have you know,” Stiles argued. Which he did, because the prettiest pretty boy he knew had once admitted while royally drunk that he wanted into Stiles’ pants, and if that wasn’t an ego booster, nothing was.

Not that Stiles had ever _told_ Jackson about that particular conversation. Friends got awkward when they found out they’d told other friends they wanted to bone them. He didn’t need Jackson making things weird at work because he was embarrassed.

Jackson’s brand of embarrassed was to be more of an asshole than usual. Tolerable, but still unpleasant. It was best to keep him at his usual mellow level of asshole. 

Stiles was still enjoying his sweet, sweet salvation when a reminder popped up on his computer. He put his coffee down and licked his lips, opening the calendar reminder and reading it over. It looked like it was one of Jackson’s appointments, but he still wasn’t back from lunch with his dad. He knew the reminder would’ve popped up on his phone too, so if he needed Stiles to handle it, he’d know soon enough. 

“How’s work?” he asked Scott, leaning back in his seat with his drink and twisting his chair slightly from side to side. 

“You know, good and bad, like always. We had to do surgery on a cat today that got mauled by a dog.” Scott’s lips turned down slightly, clearly remembering the event vividly. “Didn’t think he was gonna make it, to be honest, but he pulled through.” 

“Tough little guy,” Stiles said with a small smile. He knew Scott’s job was hard on him sometimes. He’d opted for being an ‘animal doctor’ as opposed to a ‘people doctor’ like his mom because he thought it would hurt less.

Stiles had no idea why he was ridiculous enough to believe it would hurt less. Nothing in that profession, whether human or not, hurt _less_. Stiles himself had cried like a fucking child the first time Scott had told him they’d had to put one of the animals down. 

Yes, Stiles was much better where he worked. Much, _much_ better. There was far less crying here. 

Scott was in the middle of going through the details of what they’d done to save the cat—most of which kind of went over Stiles’ head since he wasn’t in that field, but he listened attentively like a good friend—when his phone buzzed. Scott heard it as well, since it was on the desk and had vibrated loud enough to sound like a fucking plane taking off. 

“Hold that thought,” Stiles said, even as Scott already paused in what he was in the process of explaining to him. Snatching up his phone, he checked his messages and, as predicted, he was being tapped in. 

**[Jacky-poo I love you]**  
hey shitstain   
**[Jacky-poo I love you]**  
dad wont shut up  
 **[Jacky-poo I love you]**  
take my call

 **[User]**  
Will do Jacky-poo! 

**[Jacky-poo I love you]**  
i fuking hate your dumb ass

 **[User]**  
I think you typo’d the word ‘love’ there, my man!  
 **[User]**  
Hurry back ;) 

**[Jacky-poo I love you]**  
im gunna murder you in yur sleep 1 day

“I see you two are still as gross as ever,” Scott commented, reading over Stiles’ shoulder like a nosy noser. 

“You’re just jealous Jackson’s madly in love with me.” 

“Seriously, you must sleep _real_ well at night with all those delusions,” Scott insisted, but the small smile on his face suggested he was mostly joking. “Dinner tonight? Allison’s making lasagna.” 

“Oh, fuck yes.” Stiles grinned. “I’ll be there with an empty stomach and some tuppaware.” 

Scott just rolled his eyes but waved on his way to the door, heading out of the small office and leaving Stiles alone to make his phonecall. 

He pulled the reminder back up and clicked on the email attachment so he could determine which client it was and what folder he needed to review. Locating the correct one, along with the script Jackson had chosen, he cracked his knuckles, downed the rest of his coffee, cleared his throat once with his hand on the receiver, then picked up the phone to dial the number. 

_“Adrian Harris’ office,”_ a chipper voice proclaimed. Stiles felt like only years of this job made him notice she was secretly dead inside. That good cheer was all forced. 

“Hello, I’d like to speak to Mr. Harris, please. It’s quite urgent.” 

_“One moment please.”_ He listened to the elevator music while the woman patched him through. It seemed to be taking quite a while, which suggested the guy thought he was too important to take the call. Sure enough, the woman came back on the line, still sounding chipper, but very clearly already having a horrible day. 

Stiles might rethink which script to use, Jackson had gone too tame. Which was surprising, since he was usually more aggressive. 

_“I’m very sorry sir, but he isn’t able to take your call. Can I take a message?”_

“I’m sorry, but this can’t wait. It’s a matter of great importance, and I need to speak with him immediately.” 

_“Might I ask what this pertains to?”_

“I’m afraid that’s confidential,” he said, trying to sound sympathetic. “I don’t mean to be a bother ma’am, I know you’re just doing your job, but I do really need to speak to him.” 

_“Of course. One moment please.”_

The elevator music came back on, Stiles pulling up another one of the scripts, and sure enough, the guy’s curiosity was piqued, because the line clicked and a new voice sounded in his ear. 

_“Adrian Harris.”_

“Hello Mr. Harris. Are you sitting down?”

_“Who is this?”_

“I’m afraid that’s confidential,” Stiles said, his smile all teeth. “I’d say I’m sorry to bother you, but the fact of the matter is, I’m not at all sorry to be interrupting your day. I sure hope your rude ass is sitting down, because you’re about to get fucking _schooled_.” 

Stiles loved his job.

* * *

When Stiles was nineteen years old and working at a grocery store part-time to help his dad with his university bills—not that it did much good, but he tried!—he’d spent weeks on end being verbally abused for things that were in no way his fault. 

No matter how polite he tried to be, no matter how helpful or chipper or kind, he always inevitably got hit by one of those assholes who thought he was beneath them and would treat him like garbage. 

There was the one woman who’d yelled at him and waved carrots angrily in his face because the price was _ridiculous_ and how _dare_ he overcharge for carrots, this was _unacceptable_! 

There was the one guy who’d threatened to wait outside after work for Stiles when he’d refused to sell him cigarettes because he didn’t have valid ID on him and didn’t look old enough to purchase them. 

There was the one older gentleman who’d thrown a can of beans—a literal _can of beans_ —at Stiles’ head in anger because they were out of his favourite brand and only had the ‘cheap knockoff.’ 

Stiles had loved that one, because he’d legitimately been driven to the hospital by his boss when the cut on his forehead wouldn’t stop bleeding. Mama McCall had _not_ been happy when she eventually saw him in the waiting room holding a dishtowel to his forehead. 

His father had been even _less_ happy. 

Jackson had been fucking _livid_. 

It was that particular event, which had occurred almost two months into Stiles’ job, that started the angry rant that eventually turned into a new job on its own. 

Stiles remembered sitting in his bedroom at his desk, raging about how everyone was an asshole to workers, and nobody respected anyone else for the hard work that they did. Being a retail worker was _hard_! Customer service was fucking _hard_. And the reward was hardly worth the stress and belittling that occurred on a daily basis. 

Jobs in general were terrible. They all sucked, in their own ways. But what made them worthwhile were the people. If the people sucked as much as the job, then that just meant everyone would be upset and depressed. Nobody wanted to wake up to go to work, only to be yelled at for things outside their control, and having to just smile and take it. 

The worst was when it came from coworkers, though. Customers were understandable, some of them were entitled silver-spoon assholes who honestly thought Stiles personally went out of his way to overcharge them on their fucking canned peaches. But he could tolerate those people when he had the chance to turn around and roll his eyes at the cashier next to him, who gave him a knowing look and sighed in exasperation. 

But when the customer was an asshole, and Stiles turned for some solidarity, and just got an asshole beside him asking him why he sucked at his job and to stop pissing people off, that just made him angry. That made him want to punch his coworker in the face. 

Work was hard enough with the customers being dicks without having the coworkers being dicks, too. And the unfortunate things was: most dicks at work were in positions of power. 

Stiles was lucky that he had the one nice boss. When the can had been thrown at his head, his boss had driven him to the hospital, stayed with him until Melissa had shown up to help him out, and then reassured him he would be paid for his full shift despite having left it two hours early due to the injury. 

That was the nice boss. The other two were not so nice. 

Stiles got yelled at in front of a lineup of customers once because one of the officers at his dad’s workplace had called him to say there was an incident involving his father and he needed to go to the hospital. His boss had yelled at him, not only for answering his phone, but for having the _audacity_ to ask to leave early because his father had just been admitted to the hospital. 

The entire situation had blown his mind. Stiles had quit on the spot, throwing his tacky work shirt into his boss’ face, and had stormed away. Two of his coworkers had cheered and clapped, but Stiles hadn’t done it for the recognition. 

He’d done it because nobody was going to tell him when he couldn’t go see his dad. His father was the fucking sheriff, he had a dangerous job. If someone from the precinct called him, Stiles didn’t care if he was literally holding someone’s heart in his hand in the middle of surgery. The precinct called, he would answer it. 

His quitting had stemmed more angry rants and conversations with Jackson. Scott was around for some of them, but considering he was in school to become a vet tech, he was usually busy studying and didn’t have time for angry rants. Jackson was only going to university because his father demanded it, not because he had to. He had enough connections he could easily get a job whenever he wanted and make good money. 

It was during this particular rant, which was probably number seven-hundred by now, Stiles sitting in his desk chair as usual shovelling Doritos into his mouth, and Jackson half-lying on his bed while playing _Super Smash Brothers_ —and doing horribly, it was hilarious—that his friend said those fated words. 

“It’d be fucking amazing if you could anonymously call up asshole coworkers and give them a piece of your mind.” 

It had just been a comment. A random string of words that had escaped his mouth. A thought that Stiles was sure many, _many_ people had had before in their lives. Imagine having an asshole boss, or coworker, or even just someone who was always inappropriate, who made everyone unhappy or uncomfortable. Imagine being able to just... call them out on their bullshit. 

His boss had told him he couldn’t go see his dad in the hospital. Stiles could imagine what he’d have said to him. He hadn’t, because he hadn’t wanted to at the time, his father was more important. Also, he’d been in shock, because what kind of _monster_ didn’t allow a child to see their hospitalized single remaining parent? 

But now? Thinking back? Stiles had so many things he could’ve told him. He would’ve called him a monster. Told him he had to rethink his life if he thought it was okay to lack _that_ much compassion. That work was never going to be more important than people. That profit wasn’t worth someone else’s life. What if it had been _his_ father? What if his own father had been in the hospital, moments from death, legitimately only had ten minutes to live, and his own boss had stood in his way and said, “No, you must continue to serve these customers, they are more important”? 

And the more Stiles thought about it, the more into the idea he became. What _if_ there was a way for people to anonymously call in and, not be dicks, per se, but just... remind their bosses and coworkers that everyone was human and to stop being such dicks to other people all the time. 

Which all came to fruition when he, Jackson, Scott and Isaac went to a diner together to catch up after exam period, and their waitress was being bullied by the group of men behind them. They kept making inappropriate comments to her about her uniform, which was outside of her control, and one of them had bitched at her about the price of the meal he was ordering and demanded she lower the cost. 

And that was when it all started. 

Stiles whipped around while the guy was still ranting, interrupting Scott mid-sentence, and said, “I’m sorry, just curious, do you realize how unreasonable you’re being right now?” 

“Excuse me?” the guy asked condescendingly, giving Stiles a very demeaning look. “This is none of your business.” 

“It kind of is. You’re disrupting my meal with your rude tone and inappropriate comments. You realize that you’re being a bit of a dick, right? Like, you’re aware of that?” 

“I’m not being—”

“Yes you are,” Stiles cut off. “You’re being a dick. This girl makes minimum wage, she has absolutely no control over how expensive the menu items are. She doesn’t own the place, she’s just trying to make enough money to afford college. Also, did it occur to you that you’re making comments about the length of her skirt when this is a uniform?” He motioned around the diner. “All of the women here are wearing the same one, of the same length. Including Greta over there, who’s seventy-two. I don’t hear you making comments about _her_ skirt. On top of that, I happen to know this girl.” Stiles motioned her. “She was a freshman when I was a senior. Given our age gap, and knowing how old I am, that means she’s only sixteen, at _most_ seventeen. So you’re sitting there telling her to hike up her skirt, show a little leg, just a peek, to a fucking _minor_. And, just so we’re clear, you’re doing this while seated behind the sheriff’s son, and the top lawyer in the State’s son.” 

He’d never seen a guy’s face go from red to white so fast in his life. The man started sputtering, trying to make excuses, looking to his friends for help. None of them said anything, likely because they didn’t want to get noticed, given their comments had been just as lewd. 

“I’m sorry if you had a bad day or whatever,” Stiles said. “I truly am. Clearly something happened today that made your day shitty and that’s why you’re taking it out on someone who can’t talk back to you, but maybe realize that she’s just trying to do her job, and you being an asshole is unappreciated. So bitch at your friends about your shitty day, and leave Vanessa alone. She has enough stress trying to make it through high school unscathed, be fucking polite.” 

“I didn’t realize I was...” The guy licked his lips, and Stiles was impressed he managed to look over at the waitress. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I was being a dick. Sorry.” 

“Th-that’s okay,” Vanessa said, seeming completely unsure of how to proceed. “I’ll—um...” She glanced at Stiles, as if for help. “Should I—your order?” 

“I’ll have my order, and I understand the price isn’t up to you. Sorry for raising my voice.” 

“Okay. I’ll just...” Vanessa motioned the kitchens, shot Stiles another look, and scuttled away. 

Stiles turned back to his table without another word, looking at Scott. “Sorry, you were saying?” 

Jackson looked fucking _delighted_ , like he’d just had the _best_ time watching what had transpired before his very eyes. Isaac and Scott looked crossed between shocked and horrified. The men behind them were much older, and definitely could’ve beaten Stiles’ face in. Instead, the guy had actually apologized, and seemed to be rethinking everything about his life. 

“Dude, that was _insane_ ,” Isaac hissed, eyes wide. “What were you thinking?!” 

“Did you know that, statistically speaking, seventy percent of the people who are being assholes to others don’t actually realize it until they’re called out?” Stiles asked, sipping at his Coke and licking his lips. “Some people don’t recognize their tone is inappropriate, and as soon as you call them on it and explain that they’re being dicks, they calm down. Again, that’s only seventy percent, so there’s still a thirty percent chance I would’ve gotten pummelled, but a majority of the people being dicks honestly don’t realize it and are just taking out smaller frustrations on random people because they have a larger problem they can’t resolve.” 

“That was the most amazing thing I’ve _ever_ seen,” Jackson informed him. “Truly spectacular. I wish I had a time machine so I would’ve known to record it.” 

“I’m tired of people getting yelled at for things outside their control. Especially other coworkers,” he muttered, flicking the paper wrapper for his straw across the table. It hit Isaac in the hand and he flicked it back, his aim off and causing the paper to sail off the edge of the table. “Would be nice if we could all give people a piece of our minds when they were being dicks.” 

“That’d be a great job,” Jackson said with a nod, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms. Stiles noticed him flexing more than necessary, which was causing Isaac great bisexual distress, if the look on his face was anything to go by. “Imagine if that existed?” 

“You said that once before,” Stiles said. “About how amazing it would be if we could all anonymously call up assholes.” 

“That would be an amazing job,” Jackson said again. 

“Yeah.” Stiles reached for his drink again, but froze before his hand closed around it. 

His eyes shot up to Jackson, who seemed to be having the same thought as him, because he was staring right back and Stiles _swore_ he saw a fucking lightbulb light up over his head. 

“No,” Scott insisted, looking between them, somewhat panicked. “No, no, _no_! Get those looks off your faces! I know those looks! The last time you both looked like that, we stole a police van from the precinct, almost drowned when it tumbled down the ravine, and were all grounded until graduation!” 

“I could get my dad to look into it,” Jackson said, completely ignoring Scott. “I’m sure there aren’t any laws about calling people assholes.” 

“We can probably get phones set up that are blocked numbers,” Stiles agreed. “I can talk to dad about harassment and how something like this would be treated from a police perspective.” 

“Mom’s got that office in town that she never ended up using,” Jackson agreed. “It’s small, but we wouldn’t need a lot of space. We could set up a few desks, some phones, get some advertising going.” 

“They’re not listening,” Isaac said with a sigh. 

“They _never_ listen,” Scott insisted, sounding annoyed, but he seemed to know better than to bother trying to interrupt. 

“We could create scripts! Your dad can vet them, make sure we’re still within the letter of the law. And he can help us with the business setup. He knows some corporate law, right? We can get incorporated and everything!” 

“That’s not a problem, we can get through all that in no time. Shit, should we switch majors? We still have time, should we jump ship?” Jackson asked, seeming completely on board. 

Stiles was thrilled, because this literally sounded like they were going to do this. Jackson had money, and he and Stiles were like brothers, so it wasn’t like he would be opposed to footing the initial bill until they got up and running. They could open this business no problem. And this would be an _amazing_ job, because both he _and_ Jackson were really good at calling people out for being dicks. 

“I can probably switch into the Business faculty at this stage,” Stiles said. “It’s close enough to my current faculty, and I’ve got really good grades. And it’s early enough before next semester.” 

“I suppose I can try Marketing,” Jackson said, legitimately thinking about it. He made it sound so easy for him, which made sense, because he was rich. He could do whatever he wanted, and even if he didn’t have the grades for the move, he could pay enough to get it done. 

“Are you guys hearing yourselves?” Scott demanded. “You can’t just _do_ it because you have an idea!” 

“What would we call it?” Stiles asked, ignoring Scott. “Like, it’d have to be catchy, it’s gonna be hard to market.” 

“Call a Dick,” Jackson said immediately. 

“Dude, we can’t market a business with the word ‘dick’ in it, that’s not gonna fly. No one will print that. And what are we gonna do, emblazon the side of the building with a huge penis?” Stiles had to admit, it would be hilarious, but probably taken down by the city relatively quickly. 

“It’s clear, it’s concise, it explains exactly what we offer.” 

“It can’t have the word _dick_ in it, Jackson,” Stiles insisted with a sigh, leaning back and thinking on it. Call a Dick wasn’t a _bad_ name, per se. Jackson was right, it had all the right connotations. But it wasn’t going to be easy to advertise, no one was going to print that on flyers or in newspapers. It would be _really_ hard to market. 

He thought for a moment longer, Scott and Isaac still insisting that they were idiots, this was a bad idea, they couldn’t _possibly_ be serious. 

After a while, when their food finally arrived and Stiles was in the middle of dipping a curly fry into ketchup, Scott and Isaac having moved away from their ‘dumb’ idea and into the realm of the new _Wonder Woman: 1984_ movie coming out, Stiles paused. 

Wonder Woman was DC. And DC had the bat family. And the bat family had Nightwing. Whose name was Richard. 

Who everyone called _Dick_. 

“What about Call a Richard’s Nickname?” Stiles asked, speaking over Isaac who was bitching about the stupidity of bringing back Steve Trevor. 

“Are you brain damaged?” Jackson asked. “What the fuck does that mean?” 

“What nickname do people named Richard have?” 

“Dick,” Jackson said immediately, then paused and straightened. “Call a Richard’s Nickname. As in Call a Dick, but less obvious.” 

“Marketable,” Stiles said. “People will print that.” 

“But also subtle enough that morons won’t get it and we won’t have to field calls from idiots,” Jackson agreed. 

“Are you two still on about this dumb idea?” Scott asked with an aggrieved sigh. “It’s not gonna work. Even if you somehow _managed_ to get this off the ground, it’s not gonna work.” 

“It’ll work,” Jackson snapped. “Stop being a dick yourself.” 

Scott just scowled at him. “You’re both idiots. This _isn’t_ going to work.”

Stiles was so, _so_ happy that three years later, he and Jackson very loudly and condescendingly got to say, “I told you so.” 

Five years in, and business had never been better. 

Stiles loved his job. 

* * *

Derek Hale hated his job. 

No, that was a lie. He didn’t hate his job, exactly. He hated the aspect of it that was a _desk_ job. He wasn’t really a desk job kinda guy, which was the entire purpose behind having started this damn company with his uncle.

His uncle was the desk job guy. He was the one who sat behind the desk, did the paperwork, ran numbers, all that stuff that Derek _hated_.

Derek was the labourer. He was the one who went out to job sites, organized all the guys, helped out where he was needed, got his hands dirty. It was what he liked to do. Be out there, _doing_ something. 

And normally, that was what he’d be doing. He wouldn’t be sitting in the stupid head office of his and his uncle’s construction company, looking over paperwork he barely understood, and trying to figure out if they needed board approval or not to start the next project they’d been hired for. 

Fuck his uncle for taking a God damn sabbatical. The fucking asshole had just showed up at his apartment one night, proclaimed he needed a break and was going to travel the world for a year, and had promptly fucked off. He called every now and then to make sure Derek wasn’t running the business into the ground, but this was _not_ his forte! This was _Peter_ ’s! 

It would’ve been like sending Peter out to mix cement! He’d have no fucking idea what he was doing! That was how Derek felt staring down at this stupid report. It was their audited financial statement for the past year. What did that even _mean_?! And why were there applications for him to complete and update someone called Edgar? Who was Edgar?! Why was he privy to Derek’s business information?! 

Seriously, fuck Peter. Derek was going to make him work at a construction site for a year when he got back, see how _he_ liked it. 

“Your face is gonna get stuck like that if you’re not careful.” 

“What the fuck even _is_ this?” Derek demanded, throwing the report down and looking up at Erica Reyes. She was a childhood friend who’d bullied her way into being Peter’s secretary, because she didn’t need to interview to get hired since she interviewed poorly. 

He didn’t know if it was a blessing or a curse that she was now _his_ secretary until his uncle got back. He felt like she kept taking every opportunity presented to her to slack off because Derek didn’t know what she was usually meant to be doing. 

To be fair, he was fairly certain she was _pretending_ to slack off while actually doing part of his job since he was so fucking _clueless_ right now. 

Sighing explosively, like Derek’s existence was a nuisance to her, she put her cellphone back into her pocket and wandered over to him, plopping onto the edge of the desk and pulling the papers over, eyes scanning everything quickly. 

“Audited financial statements,” she said. “It’s basically a record of our operating costs and our debts. Profit and loss, balance sheet, cash flow and equity changes. It’s required for all major companies. You’re lucky someone remembered that was due, or we’d have been in trouble.” She gave him a pointed look, because evidently, _she_ had been the one to set up the accountant with the information he needed. 

“And this?” Derek shoved the other blank form towards her. 

“EDGAR update.” 

“Who’s Edgar?”

Erica stared at him, and he could tell she was trying extremely hard not to laugh. He appreciated that she didn’t. It wasn’t like it was a secret he was fucking lost right now. 

“EDGAR is the Electronic Data Gathering, Analysis and Retrieval system. It’s for our filing to meet general Securities and Exchange Commission laws.” 

“I have no idea what you just said,” Derek admitted, dropping the forms and rubbing at his face. “Why did Peter do this to me? We had an agreement. An _agreement_.” Derek stabbed his finger into the polished desk. “He does the business side, I do the grunt work side.” 

“He’s not gonna be around forever,” Erica said, her expression a little softer than it had been. “He tried teaching you this stuff, you know. You always found excuses. So he figured if he dropped you in the deep end, you’d eventually learn how to swim.” 

“Or _drown_ ,” Derek insisted. “I can’t _do_ this on my own!” 

Erica smacked him hard with the financial report. “That’s why you’ve got me. Don’t be a dick, Derek. He didn’t leave you completely _helpless_. He made sure you had support. He just doesn’t want someone else doing it _for_ you. I’m hand-holding, you can figure the rest out on your own.” 

Derek flipped her off, because he’d rather just increase her salary for a year, have her take over, and then go back to his regularly scheduled life. This was only month _two_! He had ten more before Peter came back, and that was only _if_ Peter came back. Derek wouldn’t put it past him to ‘find himself’ in some foreign country and decide to take _two_ years instead. 

Fucking asshole. Derek hated him. 

Erica smacked him with the report again, then turned to look through the door where her desk was when her phone rang. Sighing, like this entire day was a huge letdown, she slid off the edge of Derek’s desk and tossed the report back down. Wandering back to her own, she leaned over the side, snatched up her phone, and put it to her ear. 

“Nemeton Construction, Derek Hale’s office.” 

Derek sighed, resisting the urge to repeatedly headdesk. It wasn’t in his nature, though if he spent any more time in this office, he felt like he might begin to appreciate the appeal of it. 

“One moment please,” Erica said, and Derek saw her lean over to press a button on her phone before looking at Derek. “Some guy, says it’s urgent. Didn’t give a name.”

“Shit,” Derek hissed. It was probably one of the new guys on site calling to say the foreman hadn’t shown up or something. Just what he fucking needed right now. “Patch it through.” 

Erica hit another button and Derek’s first line lit up. He picked up his phone, pressed the line, tried for patience, and said, “Derek Hale.” 

_“Hello Mr. Hale. Are you sitting down?”_

Derek frowned, a little startled. That was a somewhat concerning question to hear. Was something wrong? 

Shit, was Peter all right?! 

“I am, yes. Is everything okay? Is this about Peter?”

_“No, it’s not. I received a call from someone under your employ, and I just wanted to bring to your attention that there is no need to take out your frustrations on others.”_

Derek blinked. “Excuse me?” 

_“You might not realize it, but you’re being a bit of a dick. There’s no need to treat others around you with disrespect simply because you’re having a bad day.”_

Was Derek having a stroke? He didn’t understand what was going on. Had someone complained about him? Had he been an asshole to someone recently? 

He knew he and the guys on sites often yelled at each other and were a little rude sometimes, but they were all friends and they all knew it wasn’t about being an asshole, it was about being worried when someone forgot to do something that could injure someone else. And since he’d been sitting behind this stupid desk, really the only person he’d interacted with was Erica. 

He didn’t understand what was going on. Shit, had he been a dick to someone without even realizing it? 

_“We are all human beings. We all make mistakes. We all deserve respect. No one should feel like shit waking up in the morning and going to work with an asshole of a boss. Please be more considerate of your staff, they don’t deserve that kind of treatment. You are their boss, not their slavedriver. Remember there’s a difference. Good day.”_

The line clicked. 

Derek kept the phone at his ear for a few seconds longer before very slowly hanging up, utterly confused. He stared at the receiver, mind going a mile a minute while he struggled to think back on every single interaction he’d had with people the past few days. 

He knew he was grumpier than usual, because of his relocation, but was he _that_ bad? He had no idea who the person who called was, he hadn’t recognized his voice—and it had been a _nice_ voice, Derek could acknowledge that even while having a bit of a mental crisis—but he also didn’t think the person calling was the one complaining. He’d sounded like he was calling in for someone else. 

Maybe a brother? Or a friend? Shit, had he yelled at any of the women on the floor since he’d arrived? 

“Are you okay over there?” Erica asked, having taken her seat again, leaning over slightly to see him past her monitor. 

“You’d tell me if I was a dick to people, right?” Derek asked, seriously considering going around the office and personally apologizing to every single person there. “Have I been a dick to people lately?” 

“What?” Erica asked, startled. “Why would you think that?” 

“I just got called a dick,” Derek said, staring down at his phone. Sure, he was grumpy, and he had resting bitch face, but he always tried to be kind to people. He and Peter both tried exceptionally hard not to take out frustrations on the people around them. When Derek needed to vent or rage about something, he spoke to his friends. Erica, her husband Vernon Boyd, his university friend Kira Yukimura. He had other outlets, he didn’t abuse his staff.

Peter was the same way. Whenever he got furious about something, he usually held it in, and then would go on a vacation for a few days to calm down. Anything below fury he usually just sarcastically griped at Derek and his sister Cora about. 

“You just got called a dick?” Erica asked incredulously. “What the fuck, by _who_? I mean, you’re a dick _sometimes_ , but usually only to us, and we know it’s mostly in jest.” She said ‘us’ meaning his friends as a whole, not the workplace. 

He didn’t understand. Who would compl—

“Oh!” Erica sat straight up, flapping one hand at Derek before stumbling out from behind her desk. “Oh no! Oh my God, no! I’m so sorry! Holy shit, you mean it actually worked?” 

Derek frowned. “What worked?” 

“Holy shit, I’m sorry, you’re not a dick!” She was laughing a little while walking back into the office, perching on the edge of his desk again. “Wow. So it’s actually real. I totally thought I’d wasted twenty bucks.” 

“What’s real?” Derek asked, getting a little impatient now. 

“Have you ever heard of Call a Richard’s Nickname?” 

He frowned, finding that to sound vaguely familiar. It took him a few seconds to place it, but he remembered reading an ad about it once a while ago. He’d been intrigued by the name of the company, but hadn’t understood what it was until reading further into it. Apparently it was a small company that had opened around five years ago whose sole purpose was to call out people being assholes to their staff. 

They had different levels of call outs, from gentle nudges to full on swearing matches depending on the severity of the infraction. Derek hadn’t given it any thought, because he liked almost everyone he worked with, and he was the boss, so he couldn’t complain about his own treatment. 

“I’ve read ads for it,” Derek finally said, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms, eyebrows raised. “You called them?” 

“I just wanted to see if it was _real_!” she insisted, flapping one hand at him. “Like, Boyd and I have been talking about it for months, and I finally just caved and called them up to see if they were real. The guy on the other end sounded legit, but I still honestly thought it was a scam. It was only twenty bucks though, so I called up and just made up some bogus story about my dick boss. Totally forgot they were gonna call you today. So... it’s real? It worked?” 

“Yeah it worked, the guy told me to stop being a dick to my staff.” Derek scowled at her. “What if he’d called while you weren’t at your desk? I’d have spent the whole say thinking I sucked as a boss.” 

“Don’t be such a pouty baby,” she insisted, reaching out to pinch his cheek. She snatched her hand away before he could bite at it. “It was just an experiment. No harm done. So,” she leaned a little closer, grinning slightly, “what did he say? What was it like? Did he do a good job?”

Derek kind of wanted to tell her to fuck off and go back to her desk, but honestly, the guy had a nice voice and he didn’t want to deal with these financial statements and that EDGAR bullshit, so he was much happier discussing the phone call. Even if he’d had some levels of anxiety for a few seconds. 

At least Erica had apologized, and admitted she honestly thought it was a scam. Derek figured he was just the first person that popped into her head, and she’d honestly likely chosen him because she would have a higher possibility of setting the record straight that it wasn’t a serious call. 

“He was a little tame,” Derek admitted. “Not actually rude, just told me I was being a dick and to be nicer to people.” 

“Oh.” Erica frowned. “When he asked about my boss, he _did_ bring up things about crying and thoughts about harming myself over it, so they probably have like, different levels of assholes they deal with.” 

Derek shrugged, feeling like that was probably the case. If Erica hadn’t made him sound like a complete and utter douchebag, then the guy probably felt like he could be firm but relatively polite in his scolding. 

“Nice voice though.” 

“Oh?” Erica asked, perking up slightly and leaning closer. “ _Really_? You think?” 

“Yeah. It was nice.” Derek shrugged. “Didn’t really focus on it much once I realized I was being called a dick, but at first, it sounded pretty good.” 

“Hm, I wonder if it was the guy I spoke to,” Erica said, leaning back and tapping her lips, a thoughtful look on her face. “I suppose his voice was kind of nice. Maybe it was the same guy.” 

“They probably have a lot of staff, I doubt it.” 

“Let’s look it up!” Erica insisted, sliding off the desk and moving around it to stand by Derek’s chair. She bumped her hip against it to shuffle him to the side a little bit, and he obeyed, rolling his chair over so she could commandeer his keyboard and open up Chrome. 

She typed in the company’s name and then navigated to their website. Derek had to admit, it was quite interesting reading up about it. He didn’t know what had caused the owners to create the company, but he couldn’t say he was entirely opposed to it. As an owner himself, he tried hard to appreciate all his employees, and he actually kind of admired these people for doing something that definitely couldn’t be easy.

He was sure they got yelled at a lot, too. Probably threatened, as well. It explained why there were no indications of who the owners were. It just said there were two of them, they were childhood friends, and they’d come up with the idea in university. 

“Lame,” Erica said when it became clear they would never know who was behind the site. It made sense, these people had to keep themselves safe. There were crazies out there. “I’m gonna call them back.” 

“And say what?” Derek asked, rolling his eyes while Erica wrote the number down on a post-it and walked out of the office. “That your boss found the one guy’s voice attractive and could he please call back?” 

“I was also gonna ask if he was single and into dudes.” She winked from her desk, phone already at her ear. 

Derek sighed, trying not to snap at her to put the phone down and come back to help him with this filing. He still hadn’t decided what he wanted to do when she was speaking, her voice a little higher than normal and sounding somewhat distressed. 

“Oh my God, are you the dick guys? God, my boss is _such_ a dick!” 

He shouldn’t have told Erica the guy had a nice voice. He was going to get called a dick for _months_. 

* * *

“Well maybe stop making people fucking _cry_ and you won’t have them quitting all the time! Your own fault you’re so fucking stressed, asswipe! If you treat your staff with respect, they’ll feel more inclined to stay and stop quitting, and your stress will go down. Idiot!” 

Jackson hung up the phone rather violently, but Stiles ignored him while he sat with one hand propping his chin up, other one on his mouse and scrolling through a multitude of pictures on Google. 

He’d never given much thought to the Hales before. He knew who they were, same as all the other prominent names in the county, but it wasn’t like he’d ever given them much thought. They were the construction guys, everyone knew that. Same way they knew his dad was the sheriff. They were just people that always came up in ads and whatever. 

But lately, they’d been getting a lot of calls about Derek Hale. Stiles had looked him up on the official website, and there was an announcement about how Peter Hale had taken time off and Derek was taking over for him, so Stiles figured the stress of the new position was turning him into a dick.

It was weird though, because online all he ever found was that he was a nice guy. One person even commented not to let his face fool people because he looked rough and mean, but he was actually a sweetheart. He could be rough sometimes, but only when people risked injury due to negligence. Absolutely no mention of him ever being mean to anyone.

But the calls kept coming. He’d gotten four in the past two weeks, all from different people. They were insisting he was a huge dick, and adamant that he needed to be called sooner rather than later to be ‘put in his place.’ 

Every time Stiles called though, this Derek guy didn’t say anything. He just sat there and took the verbal smackdown, thanked Stiles for his time, and then hung up. No matter what script Stiles used on him, the guy just let himself get berated. 

Maybe he knew? Maybe he was aware of his behaviour and he used the phonecalls as a kind of... reminder? Like, every time he got one, he would listen because he wasn’t aware he was being a dick, and the call was his reminder to be nice. 

But then, it shouldn’t have happened four times in two weeks. That meant he was still a dick more often than not. 

Stiles didn’t get it. No one had ever had repeat calls like this in a row. _No one_. They had some people that they called once a year or so, but this? This was unheard of. 

Maybe it was Stiles. Maybe he wasn’t aggressive enough. Jackson was usually good with people who didn’t seem to care, maybe they should switch. He always had more of an impact on those types of people. 

It was a shame though, because Derek was cute. Completely unattainable, but Stiles was still allowed to look. And look he did, which was what he’d been doing for days since this whole thing had started. One Google of Derek Hale, and _wow_ , he was addicted. 

Like having a celebrity crush or something. Derek was way out of his league—and apparently an asshole—but _man_ was he pretty. Chiselled jaw, thick beard, windswept hair, killer eyes. He didn’t seem to smile much, but when he did, good Lord. Someone needed to hose Stiles down because _wow_. What a smile. 

Stiles glanced up when he heard the door jostle, and then a few light kicks to the bottom, making him perk up instantly, because yes! Coffee! 

“Seriously, you _need_ to get that door fixed.” 

“You know, you say that instead of ‘hello’ literally _every time_ you come here,” Stiles informed him, doing the grabby hands. 

“Well if you fixed the door, I wouldn’t _have_ to.” Scott obediently headed over with coffee and handed it over, nodding a greeting to Jackson, who ignored him. “How’s work?” 

“Work-like,” Stiles informed him, taking a sip of his drink. 

“Still obsessed with Derek Hale?” 

“No,” Stiles said as Jackson muttered, “Yes.” 

Stiles glared at him but Scott just sighed sympathetically, patting Stiles’ shoulder while taking a seat on the edge of the desk beside his. They had four desks in the place, even though it was just the two of them. Eventually they’d hire more people, but for now, they were managing the workload. 

It was getting busier by the day though, Stiles figured it was because summer was looming. People got stressed when family was coming to town. 

Speaking of work, Stiles paused halfway through a sip when a reminder popped up on his computer. He saw it was one input by Jackson, but it had his name on it. Frowning, he opened it up and saw, quite disappointed, that it was for Derek Hale again. He recognized the number. 

Yes, he had the number memorized, because this was unheard of. He was now sitting at _five_ calls in two weeks. 

“Hey,” he said loudly, Jackson grunting to show he was listening. “How come I have a call to Derek Hale?” 

“Some chick called in a few days ago,” Jackson said, turning in his seat and leaning back slightly, one arm thrown over the back, “and said she needed a call to go in. I told her I’d be on it, and she was kinda bitchy about it, asking for it to be ‘the other guy who isn’t as condescending.’” 

Stiles frowned, because that was weird. No one usually cared _who_ called, so long as someone _did_. To hear he was being requested _specifically_ was... strange. 

“I’ll let you get to it.” Scott patted Stiles’ shoulder while getting to his feet, called a farewell to Jackson—who ignored him—and left the office. 

Stiles frowned, staring at the reminder, but he eventually opened it so he could pull up the right file. Jackson had already input a script for it so he shrugged and picked up his phone, dialling the number and putting it to his ear. 

He wondered if maybe he should switch it up or something. 

_“Nemeton Construction, Derek Hale’s office,”_ a chipper voice said. 

It was strange, because Stiles had heard a lot of secretaries in his life doing this job, and they all _sounded_ chipper, but were clearly dead inside. Hateful, resentful, angry at their bosses. It was weird, because Derek’s secretary was legitimately the _only one_ he’d ever heard who honestly _sounded_ sincere in her chipperness. 

“Hello, I’d like to speak to Derek Hale, please.” 

_“Oh shoot. He’s actually out of the office at the moment. Um... Can you call back? In like, an hour?”_

Stiles frowned slightly. Usually when people weren’t in, the secretary asked if they could take a message. He usually had to be the one to say he’d call back. The fact that she was immediately asking him to call back suggested she knew who he was, likely because she’d recognized his voice.

He was pretty sure this was the first call about Derek Hale he’d received, which was why he found it interesting her chipperness sounded so sincere. She’d called to complain about her boss, but she seemed happy to be working for him. It was weird. It made no sense. 

“Sure, I can call back.” 

_“Oh! Wait! Wait, wait, are you there?”_

“Yes, I’m still here.” 

_“Perfect. He just stepped off the elevator. Hold please.”_

She had him on hold before he could even confirm he was okay to wait. He just frowned at the elevator music, waiting for the voice he _knew_ was coming. And sure enough, less than a minute later, the line clicked and Derek spoke. 

_“Derek Hale.”_

Stiles tried really hard not to sigh, and while he wanted to stick to the script, he felt he needed to be a little more honest. “Hello Mr. Hale. It’s me again. Look, you’re clearly going through a lot right now, and I’m sure being alone at the head of a major company is causing you undue stress, but you are _still_ being a bit of a dick to your staff. You need to recognize these are _people_. They work for you. They’re doing their best. You cannot treat them like this. What about this situation makes you think that it’s okay to be a dick to them like this all the time? Can you _please_ buy like, a punching bag or something? Just—take out some aggression elsewhere. Leave your staff alone, they don’t deserve this kind of treatment.”

Derek Hale was silent on the other end of the line for a long while, and Stiles almost asked if he was still there, except he could hear him breathing, so he was definitely still there. 

“Mr. Hale?” 

_“Thank you for your time,”_ the man said. _“I’ll take it under advisement.”_

“You’ll—” Stiles cut off when the line clicked, pulling the phone away from his ear and doing the stupid movie thing where the protagonist stared incredulously at the receiver. And that was totally what Stiles did. He stared incredulously at the receiver. 

He was going to take it under _advisement_?! What did that even _mean_?! 

“What’s with the stupid look?” Jackson asked, Stiles jumping and glancing up before hastily hanging up the phone. “I mean, you always look stupid, but more than usual this time.” 

“He said he would take what I told him under advisement,” Stiles repeated, a little confused. “Wha–what does that even _mean_ , he’s going to take it under advisement? He’s going to take not being a dick under _advisement_?” 

Jackson frowned slightly, like he wasn’t sure he was particularly happy about that wording, either. It suggested... not great things. Maybe he wanted them to call more often so he could trace the call and sue them for harassment. 

He couldn’t, they’d already gone through that twice before with other assholes, whose assholeness was known to the world due to the attempted lawsuits, but still. Stiles didn’t really want Derek Hale knocking on their office door, he’d probably jump him. 

“Maybe I should grab the next one,” Jackson said, Stiles’ gaze rising from the phone and looking over at his friend. “Just one time. See if I can get him sorted out.” 

Stiles nodded, then looked back down at his phone. 

What the hell was _up_ with Derek Hale? 

* * *

“No, no,” Erica hissed loudly from her desk, hovering over Kira. “It’s the wrong dude, it has to be the other one, the _other_ one!” 

“Yes, tomorrow sounds perfect. Early morning, please,” Kira was saying. “Would it be possible to have the other gentleman call?” 

Derek sighed loudly, rubbing his face. He was starting to worry about his reputation. These people at Call a Richard’s Nickname probably thought he was the rudest, most inconsiderate motherfucker on the planet with how many times they’d been calling him. 

He’d gotten called by the nice voice guy at least six or seven times now. The other one, who was always perpetually angry and condescending, had called about three times. It was getting a bit out of hand, if he was honest, but Erica and Kira—and occasionally Cora, though rumour had it even Boyd was bullied into it—had been calling repeatedly. The girls seemed determined to wear him down until he asked him for a name.

The guy wouldn’t give his name, Derek knew he wouldn’t. Besides, he had no idea who he was. What if he was fifty, balding, and married with four kids? He didn’t _sound_ fifty, but people didn’t always sound their age! 

Besides, Derek had shit luck with relationships. He’d dated a few women before realizing that kept falling through. So he’d tried men, and that went even worse. Maybe he was just meant to die alone, who knew? 

“No, you see, it _has_ to be the other guy,” Kira was saying, which made Derek want to bang his head on his desk. She was so fucking obvious. “I really feel like the other guy is getting through to him. I’ll pay an extra ten bucks for the other guy. Yes. Excellent. Yes, thank you! Tomorrow, then. Thank you!” 

She hung up, then turned to Erica and the two of them high-fived. 

Derek hated them both. 

“Why are you trying to drag my name through the dirt?” Derek asked with a deep sigh. 

“Because we love you, and want you to be happy!” Erica wandered over to the office, leaning against the door jamb. “You said his voice was nice.” 

“So what?” Derek sighed. “His voice might be nice, but what if the rest of him is very _not_ nice and super homophobic? Then what?” 

“Then Kira and I wasted a bunch of money and you can live on your ‘I told you so’ pedestal.” 

Derek did like his pedestal. He was the king of ‘I told you so’s,’ always had been. No one in his friend’s group had ever _once_ escaped an I told you so from him. 

Somehow though, he felt like he really wouldn’t mind if this was the one time he _didn’t_ get to say it. 

He wished he knew who ran the business. Rumour had it they were both filthy rich and doing this as a hobby, but Derek had read their website a few times since the calls had started, and he felt inclined to believe that wasn’t right. They genuinely seemed to care about how people treated their staff, and that seemed fairly clear when coupled with the words he heard every time they called. 

Nice voice guy used to be firm and direct, telling Derek he was being a dick, and to please stop. Nowadays, he sounded exasperated and defeated, like he’d never failed so thoroughly before. The other guy just sounded angry and annoyed that Derek was such a colossal douchebag. 

Sighing again, even while Erica and Kira spoke about their weekend plans, Derek rubbed his face and then pulled one of his many file folders over. It contained some documents for him to sign off on, but he wasn’t sure what they even _were_. He hoped if he read them over enough times, he’d figure it out and feel comfortable signing them, but he’d probably have to talk to Erica again. 

He was really feeling inadequate at his job right now, he wanted to go back to labour. 

Kira was in the middle of talking about a new High Tea place that had just opened up near her place when Erica’s phone rang. The blonde wandered back over to it, having still been lingering in Derek’s doorway, and answered the line. 

“Nemeton Construction, Derek Hale’s office.” A brief pause. “One moment please.” 

Derek glanced up when he heard her tone, because she’d sounded confused. When she put the line on hold, she turned to look at Derek. He raised his eyebrows in silent inquiry. 

“I think it’s him. Nice voice guy,” she said. “But he shouldn’t be calling yet, we scheduled it for tomorrow.” 

“Huh.” Derek wasn’t going to complain, but it _was_ strange. He motioned for her to patch it through, and instead of picking up the receiver, he just hit the line and put it on speaker. 

“Derek Hale.” 

_“Dude,”_ an extremely sad and defeated voice said down the line, _“this is—I mean, you **really** need to treat your staff better. Like, I can’t be calling you every day.”_

Derek actually felt bad for him. He sounded like he felt like a failure. Like he’d pulled out all the stops, and Derek _still_ wasn’t behaving. He wondered if maybe this had never happened before. It made sense, most people would probably improve after being berated, not spiral downward horrendously like this. 

“Why not?” he asked, Erica and Kira moving into his office and standing by his desk so they could listen, as well. 

The guy sputtered. _“Why not? Because your poor **staff** , dude! **That’s** why not!”_

It was clear he wasn’t going off a script anymore. He seemed to have been at the beginning, and then had switched it up to half and half. Now he was just talking, because he’d called Derek ‘dude’ _twice_.

_“Like, are you okay? Or are you just legitimately an asshole and nothing I say will solve this problem? Because if you’re not okay, I think—I mean, you should see someone. This is kind of worrisome. People who lash out like this usually have much bigger problems, and with the frequency of your outbursts, I really think you should consider getting help.”_

Derek turned to give Erica an exasperated look. She made a face, clearly realizing this was causing poor nice voice guy undue stress, and before he could respond, his friend leaned down closer to the phone. 

“Hi there, so sorry, don’t mean to interrupt. Um... I’m the one who keeps calling you.” 

“And me,” Kira said, from a little further back. 

“And uh, my husband. And Derek’s sister. We’re... We’ve been calling your service. I’m the only one who actually works for him, and it’s only temporary. So he’s not actually, uh, an asshole.” 

The silence that followed was a little concerning. 

“Hello?” Erica asked, wincing at Derek. He just gave her an unimpressed look. 

_“I’m...”_ the guy trailed off for a few seconds, seeming to try and decide on a word before continuing with, _“confused.”_

“Yeah, I can imagine.” Erica eased around the desk, shoving at Derek’s chair to move him aside slightly so she could brace herself against the wooden surface and stick close to the phone. “So, full disclosure, I was your first call. The one who was all, ‘oh shit, this is real, no kidding?’ and stuff. I honestly called just on a whim because my husband and I have been debating whether or not this service was real for a while. I wanted to see if it was, so I called. You answered, and I just threw out a random story about my supposed boss. I mean, yes, Derek is my boss, but he’s also one of my best friends, so I just gave you a bullshit story about him being a dick and hung up. Honestly, I forgot all about it until you called him, and he was concerned and confused, because he thought he’d been rude to one of his staff and actually got _worried_ about it. Like, he was angsting about it and everything.”

“I was not angsting,” Derek insisted, but Erica just held a hand up to him to silence him.

“Anyway, after I realized that it was your service, and that you were legit, I came clean because he’s a sweet guy, and I didn’t want to give him anxiety about it thinking he’d been rude to someone when he hadn’t been. And while we were chatting about your service, he admitted you has a nice voice.” 

_“Excuse me?”_ the guy on the other end said, sounding incredulous. 

“Honey, have you heard yourself?” Erica asked. “You sound adorable.” 

“You really do,” Kira agreed. 

“Anyway,” Erica continued, flapping a hand at Derek when he motioned for her to just drop it. “After he said that, I figured he’s been a little, you know, _lonely_. And he thought you had a nice voice, so I figured, what was the harm? We all called in pretending to be disgruntled employees so that you would call him. It’s a win-win, really. We pay you, so you’re not losing out on funds, and Derek gets to hear your nice voice every few days _knowing_ he’s not actually a dick.” 

“Your other coworker’s been calling too though, so that kind of sucked,” Kira cut in. 

“Yes, he is not as pleasant to listen to, but I guess that’s kind of the point.” Erica leaned closer to the phone, resting her elbows on the desk and folding her hands together. “So, nice voice man on the other end, Derek is not, in point of fact, a dick. He is actually a very kind man, and a fantastic employer. He cares about people, and he is extremely good looking. Would you like to go for coffee with him?” 

Derek buried his face in his hands. He should’ve hung up the phone after she’d explained the full story, he just hadn’t expected her to ask the dude out.

They knew nothing about each other! And again: _what if he was straight_?! 

_“Uh... I...”_ Nice voice guy seemed a little... flustered. Derek peeked through two fingers at the phone, Erica’s smile positively _feral_. _“I... coffee. Is good. I like... uh... coffee.”_

“Wonderful!” She straightened instantly, clapping her hands together once and seeming thrilled. “Derek is also fond of coffee! How’s this afternoon sound? When do you finish work?”

_“Um, like five?”_

“So does Derek! It’s like you were made for each other.” She turned to grin at him. Derek wasn’t sure if he wanted to smack her or kiss her. “How about you two meet at the Starbucks on Twelfth and Main? Say, five-thirty? Does that give you enough time to get there?” 

_“Five-thirty. Yeah. Works. Starbucks.”_

God, he sounded like they’d broken him. He was probably so horrendously confused. 

“Perfect! He’ll see you there. Make sure you look him up so you can approach him, since he won’t know what you look like and his picture’s everywhere.” She leaned close to the phone again. “Talk to you soon, nice voice guy! Bye now.” 

She hung up. 

“What did you do?!” Derek demanded, hands still half-covering his face. “Erica!” 

“What?” she asked. “You’re all blushy and adorable, you wanted this, don’t act like you didn’t.” 

“I don’t even _know_ him!” 

“Exactly, which is why you’re having coffee.” Erica turned to Kira, rolling her eyes. “Men, am I right?” 

“Totally,” she agreed, nodding solemnly. “Derek, this is how you _meet_ people. By random happenstance. You meet, you get to know each other, and see where things go from there. He knows you’re not a dick now, so he’ll walk in with a better opinion of you. And who knows, maybe he’ll be _exactly_ your type and you’ll both fall madly in love.” 

“Doubtful,” he muttered, slouching a bit in his seat like a child. “I don’t even look good today.” 

“Please don’t make me smack you, I hate touching your beard,” Erica said dryly. 

“I don’t, I love his beard, I’ll hit him,” Kira offered. 

“I hate both of you,” he informed them, leaning forward to snatch up his phone. “I’m calling Boyd and telling him you’re fired.” 

“Good luck with that,” Erica sing-songed, heading out of the office. “See how far you get without me. By the way, you sign off on the new contract set to start next week?” 

Derek stared at her retreating back. “New contract?” 

She turned to grin at him, leaning back against her desk and crossing her legs, looking infinitely pleased with herself. “Might want to rethink that firing me plan, Mr. Hale.” 

Derek glared at her, and hung up his phone just as Boyd picked up. 

He still couldn’t decide if he wanted to smack her or kiss her. He figured he’d come up with an answer after coffee. 

Along with whether or not he got to say ‘I told you so.’ 

* * *

“This is crazy,” Stiles insisted to himself, staring up at the Starbucks logo and ignoring the people coming in and out of the shop. He’d been standing there for close to five minutes, trying to convince himself to go inside. 

So far, he hadn’t managed. 

He still wasn’t even sure what the hell had happened. Jackson had been concerned hearing him stutter and trail off like he’d been doing, but as soon as he hung up and explained, his friend had just burst into laughter and insisted that Stiles attracted assholes and he shouldn’t be surprised. 

But the thing was, Stiles _didn’t_ attract assholes. Jackson _pretended_ to be an asshole, but he really wasn’t. To most people, yes, on the surface he seemed like an asshole and it was best to steer clear of him, but Stiles had known him basically his entire life. He knew Jackson’s tough exterior was a shield he’d created to protect himself, because for a long time, he hadn’t wanted to admit to anyone that he was gay.

Not even Stiles.

He’d lashed out a lot, hadn’t done very well in school, and had basically made his own life miserable because he was busy hating himself. But once Stiles forced him to fucking use his words, he’d broken down and admitted everything. Jackson was so used to pretending to be an asshole that he couldn’t turn it off anymore, but Stiles knew what he was truly like on the inside. 

He was kind, and considerate, and caring. He pretended to be a dick, but Stiles knew that he wasn’t. Scott had come in once to talk about his heartbreak over a puppy that was going to be put down. Apparently it had been abandoned on their doorstep and after being nursed back to health, it hadn’t been claimed so it went to the pound. It’d been there for a while, and nobody seemed to want it because it was ‘ugly’ so it was going to be put down. 

Jackson had sneered that it was its own fault for being so stupid looking, but the next day when Scott had come by with his coffee, he’d commented rather loudly how _strange_ it was that the ugly dog set to be put down magically found a new home the night before. Like some guardian angel had just shown up and rescued it. Jackson had told him to take his loud mouth bullshit somewhere else because he was busy working. 

Stiles had been greeted by a very excited brand new puppy when he’d shown up at Jackson’s house a few hours later. 

He did not attract assholes. He attracted very kind people who gave off the impression of being assholes.

And finding out that Derek Hale wasn’t an asshole, and had friends calling specifically so Stiles would call _him_... It was weird, okay! It made him feel weird. But at the same time, he was also relieved. He was just glad Derek wasn’t as much of a dick as he’d been led to believe. 

Still... this was crazy. Derek Hale was like, this amazing, rich and powerful guy who probably had people fawning all over him all the time. Stiles was just... that lanky sheriff’s kid. 

Sure he’d filled out, and again, Jackson wanted to bone him so yay ego-boost, but still. He knew he was going to be a huge disappointment to Derek. He was probably expecting some drop-dead gorgeous specimen _like Jackson_. Instead, he was getting Stiles. 

“Just do it,” Stiles muttered, still staring up at the logo. “In and out. We’ll sit, we’ll chat, he’ll bid me a good evening because I’m not his type, and we’ll never speak of this again.” 

It took him an additional two minutes to finally get his feet to move. He walked into the Starbucks, heart pounding for some inexplicable reason, and looked around. It wasn’t particularly busy, which made sense since it was dinner time and most people just headed home after work. A few people sitting at the counter with laptops and lattes, a group of friends in the back corner playing what looked like Card Against Humanity, an elderly couple enjoying a quiet conversation. 

And Derek Hale.

Who stuck out like a sore thumb in the middle of the coffeeshop, wearing a nice navy three-piece suit and a watch that probably cost more than Stiles’ Jeep. His hair was just as windblown as it looked in the pictures, and while he had a beard, it wasn’t as long as most of the pictures had it, which made him look even _more_ ruggedly handsome, somehow. 

Derek looked uncomfortable, like he’d noticed he was horrendously overdressed, but he just kept his eyes on the coffee in front of him, playing with the paper sleeve around his cup and looking like he wanted to leave. There was another takeout cup across from him, complete with a green stopper to keep it warm, and Stiles let out a slow breath before slowly approaching the table. 

When he got close enough that Derek noticed him, the man looked up, and froze. Stiles didn’t really know how to take that reaction, so he stopped beside the chair opposite him, but didn’t sit. 

“Hi,” he said uncomfortably. “Um, I’m—”

“Stiles.” 

He blinked, mouth opening slightly. “I—yeah. How did you—?” 

“High school,” Derek said, eyes skirting down his form once, very quickly, and then back up. That—was unexpected. Apparently Stiles was wrong and maybe he wasn’t going to be leaving quite so quickly. “You were a freshman when I was a junior.”

“Right.” Stiles pulled the chair out, sitting down finally, because standing was making this more awkward. “Right, yeah. I—forgot. Cora was in my grade.” 

“Yeah.” Derek was still playing with the sleeve around his cup, pulling at the paper gently before realizing what he was doing and smoothing it back out. He started pulling on it again less than five seconds later. “I didn’t know what you liked. I just got you a black coffee, but I can get you something else.” 

“No, no.” Stiles pulled the cup closer. It was still relatively warm through the paper and he pulled the stopper out. “No, black coffee is-is great. Thank you.” 

Derek nodded once, then they lapsed into awkward silence. Stiles cleared his throat and took a sip of the drink. It was hotter than he’d been expecting, and it burned a little on its way down, but he forced himself to swallow anyway before lowering it back down to the table. 

“So,” Derek said after a few more moments of silence. “You uh, you’re the guy behind Call a Richard’s Nickname, then.” 

“Yup,” Stiles offered, licking his lips and playing with the lid of his drink. “Jackson Whittemore and I. Try not to tell anyone, we are _not_ popular.” 

“Maybe not with assholes, but I’m sure you’re plenty popular with the people you help.”

Stiles nodded. “Fair enough. Sorry, by the way. For uh, you know...” He motioned Derek vaguely. “I was just doing my job. Or, you know, what I thought was my job, considering apparently you were never an actual dick.” 

Derek let out a laugh then, and it was like that one sound eased the tension between both of them. Stiles felt himself relax a little bit, and even Derek stopped picking at the sleeve on his cup, wrapping his hands around it instead and offering Stiles a small smile. 

“Yeah, Erica’s a little... unconventional. Sorry, by the way. For my friends calling and lying to you like that.” 

“I mean, she wasn’t wrong. It was kind of win-win,” Stiles admitted with a shrug. “We got paid for those calls, so I can’t complain. Though it _did_ damage my opinion of you up until the call earlier today.” 

“I figured,” Derek admitted. “I also feel like I need to apologize for how weird this all is. I didn’t exactly intend for things to turn out this way, I just made one comment about your voice, and Erica took it a bit far.” 

“No one’s ever said I have a nice voice before,” Stiles admitted. “Actually, it was kind of nice to hear. So—thanks.” 

Derek smiled again, and they both sipped at their coffee, like they were trying to get rid of the last vestiges of the awkwardness. 

“I like your beard,” Stiles blurted out, which was a stupid thing to say, because now he was embarrassed. 

Derek looked startled, and then he laughed. It was loud, and rich, and fucking _sinful_ , and Stiles wished he could roll himself up into the laugh, it was so good. 

“We’re even,” Derek said once he’d managed to calm down. 

Stiles frowned. “Even?” 

“I like your voice, you like my beard.” Derek offered him another small smile. “Let’s try this again, shall we?” He held one hand out. Stiles frowned for a second, then slowly reached out for it, letting Derek shake it. “Hi, I’m Derek Hale. Thank you for meeting me for coffee. If it’s all right with you, I thought maybe we could talk a bit about ourselves, get to know each other, and maybe see where things go from there.” 

Stiles let out a bark of laughter, squeezing Derek’s hand once before they both let go. “Stiles Stilinski. Nice to meet you.” 

“So, Stiles Stilinski,” Derek said, leaning forward slightly. “What’s your opinion on coffee? Because I have to tell you, it’s one of my favourite things, and if you’re opposed to coffee, well, we might have to rethink this friendship.” 

Stiles was wrong. 

This wasn’t weird or crazy.

It was fucking _awesome_.

He grinned, and inhaled deeply, ready to deliver a truly marvellous speech about how amazing coffee was. 

And if they ended up staying at the Starbucks until closing time, well, at least there was a restaurant next door calling their name. 

Nicest Richard’s nickname he’d ever met. 

**END.**

**Author's Note:**

> Obligatory Copyright Shit:  
> Teen Wolf (c) Jeff Davis  
> Super Smash Brothers (c) Nintendo  
> Wonder Woman & Nightwing (c) DC  
> Cards Against Humanity (c) Max Temkin
> 
> Come chill with me on [Tumblr](https://isthatbloodonhisshirt.tumblr.com/).


End file.
